


Liquor and tobacco

by briadakota



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Bottom GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Consent is Sexy, Crying, Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Love Bites, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Pet Names, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Symbolism, Teasing, Top Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), dream is a softie, they take care of each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-18 20:48:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29615223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/briadakota/pseuds/briadakota
Summary: Fire and water reflect one another in the prettiest ways, dancing a nameless rhythm, and one must always fall.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 225





	Liquor and tobacco

Agony hangs in the air. It dances with the soft purple kissing the walls of the room, fighting for dominance in the atmosphere. It hurts; the agony of Dream’s lips fluttering against George’s, the agony of George’s hands ghosting over Dream’s nape, neither enough to satisfy, neither quenching the agony. But _god_ , it hurts so well, hurts so pretty, like golden liquor and sweet tobacco. Viridescent eyes lock with chocolate ones, pupils blown, eyes smoky with _want want want_.

Dream is a hunter with wary hands, George is a challenger with a tremble in his voice, in the water and fire of each other, they revel and crave, yet neither can stand to fall before the agony snaps.

The purple air grows dense and stifling.

George falls first, giving up in a ragged, shaky breath as his fingers _finally_ find purchase in golden locks, drinking into the kiss, rolling his hips, desperate and hungry.

The agony snaps.

_What a lovely descent._

George pulls away, chest heaving as he gulps air into his burning lungs, swiping the back of his hand over his chin to remove the string of saliva that had connected them. Dream looks down at the man in his lap, he’s already a beautiful mess. Green eyes scorch holes in George’s small frame, the way he shudders and clutches at Dream’s shoulders to keep him falling into madness earns him a triumphant smirk.

“So pretty.” 

The first droplets of water begin to dampen the fire.

“So pretty for me baby.”

George melts at the praise, knees buckling and leaving his body slumped against his lover’s chest, murmuring incoherently. Dream chuckles and cards his hands through George’s soft hair, lifting his chin every so often to press a kiss to his lips. It’s quite a sight to behold, cocky, indignant George losing to the lover’s game, desperately trying to keep his flames alight. In the hands of water, fire will always be reduced to whispering embers. Both know that all too well.

“Look at you, so pretty, like a little angel, yeah?” Dream’s voice is a soft rumble in his throat, rich and ever so elegant, sending reverberations of golden pleasure through George’s body. He could cum right then and there, but letting Dream push him over the edge of bliss so soon would be excruciatingly embarrassing, so instead, he angles his right leg and jams it into Dream’s ribs. Hard.

The act of defiance is met by deathly silence that settles around the room in a bitter cold mist, but the sudden halt of Dream’s hand in George’s hair was telling that it had not gone unnoticed. The latter’s heartbeat quickens, the familiar intoxicating rush of fear seeps into his veins, his head is snapped back and Dream straightens, his soft expression doesn’t match the painful grip he has in George’s hair. The smaller man squirms.

_More more more_

“If I remember correctly,” Dream begins, eyes sharp but voice gentle. “You gave in first. So why don’t you be a good boy for me, and keep that attitude up?” He cocks his head and drags a thumb over George’s pillowy lips, watching every shudder and soaking up every shaky exhale. “I mean, considering I won, isn’t it only fair?”

George hooks his teeth over his bottom lip, kissed an angry red, and grins, leaning forward as much as Dream would allow him.

“You haven’t won shit.”

The conceited smirk plastered on Dream’s face shatters.

Green eyes fill with poisonous desire, whiskey and lemon in a golden goblet. Dream sits back on his heels and pulls his shirt over his head, subtle muscles rippling.

“Off.” He yanks at the collar of George’s hoodie.

George does what he’s told, hastily discarding the item of clothing into a forgotten corner and turning to Dream, anticipation on his lips. The two stare at each other as time hangs vacant for glistening seconds, wondering, lusting, admiring. They stand on cloud nine, at the gates of bliss, golden spires stretching into the sky. George pushes them open.

“Touch me.” His words are rasped and tainted with desperation and hunger and need.

_please please please_

Dream muses over the request in his mind, savouring the feeble tone of his voice. George always sounds so delicious, looks so delicious, tastes so delicious. He drags his emerald eyes over his lover, body quivering, sepia irises indistinguishable from black pupils, a hand poised in front of him, a plea on his tongue. George always asks, always pleads in the prettiest voice, like honey and sugar, he’s so sweet, and who is Dream to refuse? He loves to make George sing, and George loves to make him ache.

The purple light filters through his mind, sparks of agony begin to dapple the air once more. He wants to take from George, wants to make him feel good and sing pretty, for his eyes only.

“Dream?”

He looks up to meet George’s eyes, and his heart cracks. He looks so achingly beautiful, eyelashes smoky and long, casting shadows on his milky cheeks, lips plump and red. Dream is afraid of breaking George, terrified he might shatter like a little porcelain doll, frightened he might fade away into nothingness if he doesn’t hold him close. His hands begin to tremble.

“Dream,” George repeats again, softer this time as he reaches out to him, stroking his jaw. “It’s alright, it’s safe. I’m here.”

Dream’s eyes flitter, searching for smoke and mirrors in George’s, when he finds none, his chest falls and he sighs, leaning into his lover’s hand and letting his eyes flutter shut. They lay there for a while, Dream’s face in George’s palm, his hands tracing intricate patterns on pale thighs, George’s right hand combing gently through golden hair, as if it was made of silk. Neither of them mind the silence, it envelopes them in warm reassurance and eases tender hearts.

Only in George’s hands is Dream able to let his fears be known, and only in Dream’s hands is George able to let go, it is a gold woven contract of ethereal love, never spoken, but known until the day they part.

“I can touch you?” Dream’s muffled question ebbs away the silence.

“Yes, you can touch me.”

Large hands cage George’s waist as Dream sits upright, touch still agonisingly gentle as he hovers over voluptuous lips, searching for signs of resistance in glazed eyes. For George, the seconds are lasting too long, and he lunges forward, the golden promise of consent sealed in the kiss, trying to push all his love and reassurance and admiration into Dream’s mouth.

It’s all the taller needed, purple desire and golden need creeping back into the corners of his vision, he pushes against George, tongues dancing in a contest for dominance as he trails his hands up pale, sensitive sides, a soft laugh rumbling in his chest as George squirms and gasps in beautiful, frayed breaths.

“I love you, George,” he breathes between kisses, trailing the honeyed affection downwards, over his chin and jaw. “love you so much, so perfect, always so perfect baby.”

“I love you too, lo-” his declaration is cut off by a whorish whine as Dream latches onto his throat, face burning a gorgeous scarlet as wide eyes meet curious, narrow ones. Dream’s breath is warm against tender skin, lips poised, eyes hooded, canines just barely visible through a smile laced with sugared poison.

An agony filled silence settles as the lovers stare, both curious, both waiting, both filled with a burning desire to _feel._

“You look like you could break me.” George voices his revelation into the silence. Watching as Dream’s eyes roll white for a fleeting second, his jaw clenches and his tongue rolls over his teeth, George knows he’s struck a cord, snapped a silver string bound by civility.

Dream bites down on the skin, wanting to see blood, wanting to taste iron. The pretty little noises, the statement, George had set live wires under his skin, electrical currents hissing and sparking.

“ _Fuck!_ Ow, fuck you!” George grumbles indignantly, though the complaint lacks sincerity as he white knuckles Dream’s tousled sandy hair.

The latter runs his tongue along the wound in a soothing apology, murmuring praise and golden droplets of love as he sucks and licks and bites at the flesh of George’s neck, littering the milky canvas with opaque hues of pink, purple and red, nails dragging feathery lines into delicate hips, George writhing and gasping all the while, pretty little sounds and delicious pleas filling the royal violet air. This is the George that Dream feels privileged to witness, the way he lets go of his fire and his facade, a vulnerability so raw and real, all because he knows Dream will never let him fall beyond pleasure. And so Dream keeps this privilege locked away in his heart, protecting it with the very fibres of his being so that only he and George may explore it.

George is trembling now, strength failing him as he clutches pathetically at golden strands, broken little _ah_ ’s and _mmh_ ’s filtering through his lips. Dream’s mouth feels like everything he could never reach, red wine on his tongue and gold on his breath, it’s _so_ good, _too_ good, George is losing himself and Dream knows it, he revels in the way Dream hunts for the most hidden and delicate fragments of his soul, it’s so intimate and filthy, syrup on his tongue.

A particularly harsh kiss to his collarbone wracks his body with pleasure and he groans, melting to Dream’s whims.

“Good, sweetheart?”

“good, _ah-”_ he whines and lolls his head back as more suffocating love is applied. “So g-good, _Clay_ - _”_

Another silver string is snapped, and it would be foolish to think that George is oblivious.

Dream stills and time freezes, suddenly hyperaware of the angel writhing beneath him, of the way he sings so delicately, illuminated by the purple glow and lustred with a thin coating of sweat, pale neck a beautiful collage of bruises. Pleasure suits George so well, it is his god given right, after all.

“George, baby,” he rasps into the dense air, unable to keep the desperation from his voice any longer, because _god_ he just wants to feel and taste and touch. “can you say that again for me?”

George’s mouth softens in a knowing smile. Dream may be the more dominant of the two, but that doesn’t exempt him from George’s sweet words and teasing hands. He knows how to influence, tug on his strings ever so gently, granting each and every golden wish.

George leans forward until their chests are flush and his lips brush the shell of Dream’s ear, he can feel his lover’s heart pounding against his ribs, like it might break free of its cage at any second. His hand travels down and pale fingers brush the tent in Dream’s sweatpants, earning him rolling hips and a throaty noise, something of a growl. It sends white hot electricity down his spine.

“I want you to take from me, make me feel good, break me, _please Clay._ ”

The final string is snapped. Dream’s mouth hangs slack, George’s blood on his lips. The green in his eyes begins to fade, replaced by a dark and velvety colour of pure, wild, untouched lust. There’s a burning coil in his stomach as his shaking hands remove the grey sweats, hot and uncomfortable against his lower body. George is silent, his eyes wide as he watches Dream, only able to compare him to that of a god, body shadowy in the gloomy violet. He reaches out, wanting to touch Dream’s cock, wanting to taste, but his wrists are captured in strong hands.

“No.” Dream gestures at George’s shorts. “Off.”

He wants to make George feel good tonight, starving to see his face twisted in golden pleasure, aching to hear him sing and writhe and _finally_ give up all his fire and fall apart in the prettiest of ways. He knows George must be burning, and he feels a twinge of guilt. Perhaps, if he were more naive, he would be nicer, but Dream is not naive, and George does not long for ‘nice’.

“I’m- I’m prepped…” George trails off in embarrassment after removing his shorts.

“You were expecting this?” Dream tsks. “What a whore.”

Playful fire flares up in George’s eyes.

“Suck my dick, twat.”

“Keep asking darling, maybe it’ll happen one day.”

He pats his lap and George takes a breath before crawling forward, hanging onto Dream’s shoulders for balance. His chin is tilted up gently, and viridescent meets chocolate once more.

“Yeah?”

It’s a soft question, a final check for discomfort or resistance.

“Yeah.”

The lovers finally get what they’ve been craving. They’ve been dancing together at the gates of bliss to a timeless rhythm, and now they enter into a spiral of fine wine and silk, where pleasure kisses coherence until she’s breathless.

George’s mouth falls open and his eyes screw shut as he slides down Dream’s dick, fingers digging into his shoulders, sure to leave little red crescent moons.

“Oh, oh, g-god-”

“You’re doing so well Georgie, just a little longer baby, I promise.” Dream presses a kiss to his throat, hoping to ease the pain.

There is silence once Dream is finally as deep as he can go, he struggles to keep his composure because _fucking hell_ George is so warm and tight, but he wants to be cruel, like pleasure is to coherence, so he’s still and careful, trailing his hands up and down George’s sides, waiting.

George does the same, waiting, watching, staring into the glinting green abyss of Dream’s eyes. They laugh at him, daring him to move. Fire and water dance once again. And just as the universe wrote it, fire, as bitter and stubborn as it may be, is always extinguished.

“Clay, _please._ ”

Dream simply continues to stare down at his lover, a lazy smirk plastered on his face, eyes hooded and smoky, feeling the tenderness build, waiting for the fire.

“Fucking _move!_ What the hell are you waiting for? You’re such a prick! ju-”

Dream snaps his hips up and the tenderness breaks, he watches in sinful satisfaction as George’s outburst is cut short by a whine so utterly lewd that Dream has to close his eyes for a few seconds to ground himself.

“Oh _god!_ Again, that- again, please, oh my god, _please!”_ George’s words are brittle and agonised, so much so that Dream decides to show him the smallest droplets of mercy.

He grinds into George, so, _so_ slowly, nowhere near enough to satisfy. Large hands ghost over the surface of burning skin, lips mouthing so softly at his throat that it’s excruciating, water kisses the fire until it finally begins to die.

“ _Please please please Clay please-”_ George _sobs_ as the potent mix of too much teasing and too little touch becomes painful, too much liquor, too much tobacco, he finally begins to break.

“You’re crying…” Dream remarks softly, cupping George’s face in his hands and thumbing away tears of gold. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

The apology is sincere and delicate, but the god and the angel know that it is not needed.

George blinks up at Dream.

“Can I have you now?” He whispers, so shy and broken that Dream aches for him, he drops his head to kiss the questions from George’s lips.

“Of course, angel.”

And so Dream does just that, he grips George’s small hips with big hands, pushing him down, forcing him to feel every golden second, thrusting into the heat of his lover so smooth and rhythmic that George can’t breathe, can’t think. His eyes glaze over and his mouth hangs slack, looking so pretty and perfect, whining and moaning and drooling for _more more more_.

It takes pleasure herself to stop Dream from ripping George off and slamming him into the silk of their bed, ramming into him until he passes out. She guides Dream, shows him how she kisses coherence until she’s incoherence, shows him how to do it smooth and pretty, and George’s thighs begin to shake.

“Clay, oh- god _Clay,_ cla- I need- oh- oh- gonna- cum! _”_ He sobs out, a gorgeous mess of tears and tousled hair.

“You want to cum?”

“ _yes yes yes please!”_

Dream lifts George’s hips and his rhythmic thrusts come to an abrupt halt. George is captured in time, saliva trailing down his chin, eyes hooded and dappled with rich honey, lips dragged under his teeth and hole fluttering. If Dream wasn’t so preoccupied, he would’ve taken a picture.

“Isn’t that a terrible shame?” He sneers, the remark so soft that its intention becomes blurred between mocking and reassuring.

He’s by George’s ear, voice a tantalising whisper of liquid gold, teeth nibbling his earlobe, he’s dancing so fast, so well, George can’t keep up. He convulses, dropping his head into the dip of Dream’s collar as he’s lowered, painful and slow. His body shudders with each sob that rattles through it, no longer a roaring fire, or even a dying ember, he’s a breath of smoke, an echo of the fire that used to burn so bright, reduced to nothing by hands woven of pleasure.

Those gentle hands card through his hair.

“I’m sorry Georgie,” Dream hums, lifting his lover’s chin to make sure that it’s not actually too much. And sure enough, the pools of mahogany still burn with hunger. “It’s just so much fun, breaking you like this. Don’t you think so?”

“I think that y-you should fuck me some m-more.” Came the muttered reply, voice still stuttering occasionally from the reverberations of pleasure.

Dream smiles, warmth blossoming through his veins and creating flowers in his heart. No matter how many times George is reduced to smoke, his fire always comes back to dance their timeless rhythm once more.

“As you wish.”

George is fucked into so hard that his brain hurts, his mouth lolls open and his eyes roll back. White hot pleasure sears his nerves. He wants to beg and plead, _please please more oh god yes please more fuck me please please,_ the unintelligible string is on his tongue, but his brain rattles in his skull with each thrust and he can’t get the words out, a filthy whine escapes his lips instead.

“Darling,” Dream grunts, raking a hand through his hair in order to keep his composure. “I really _could_ break you, you know. Could slam in so hard and make you cry your pretty little tears, I bet you’d like that, hm? You like taking my cock, don’t you? Like a little _slut._ ” He emphasises the degradation with a particularly cruel snap of his hips, earning him a babbled string of curses and pleas. He knows it’s filthy, knows it’s wrong in someone’s book to be eating up George’s cries and pleas like a delicacy, but _god_ do they taste good.

“Yes, oh g-god yes, please, I’m your little whore, ‘m your slut, I’ll take a-anything, promise, I’ll do anything, Clay-” his slurred nonsense melts into pretty little _ah ah ah_ ’s as Dream thrusts remorselessly into that golden sweet spot.

“God George, you’re so fucking broken.” Dream murmurs half to himself as he stares at the tears trailing glistening marks on pale cheeks. His hands grip at soft flesh, pushing down milky hips, snapping his own as deep as he can. He lives for nights like these, nights where they become intoxicated on chemical love, nights where he can break George into tiny little pieces and have him begging and crying his name, all so sinful and delicious. George is so tight, soft like velvet. The coil in his stomach grows unbearable.

George’s nails draw blood from strong shoulders, his eyes fly open, mouth agape.

“ _Clay-_ ”

Dream understands. He strokes his cock, thumbing over the dripping head, and George’s eyes writhe in his skull.

“Feels good?”

“Feels, feels- s’good!” George cries out, his voice breaking and his thighs burning as he bucks into Dream’s hand, pathetic and languid, nothing but a puppet in the golden purple of this snapshot in time, shamelessly chasing the release he can so vividly taste. “Feeling, s-so full! Gonna- cum!”

For a moment, Dream’s mind becomes laced with lovely poison and he considers denying George his relief, but his own flames are growing too hot and he lets the idea fall. He presses a flowery kiss to his lover’s bruised lips, stroking fast and thrusting hard, pulling the last pieces of him apart.

“Clay, _Clay!_ ”

“It’s okay, I’m here, cum for me sweetheart, yeah?” His reassurance is soft against red lips, tasting of salt and warmth.

George’s hips stutter, his body spasms and a broken sob wracks his bones. The world drops as white warmth spills through his mind, his fingertips scrape the sky as he floats in bliss, falling through the dizzying layers of paradise. His soul sighs and he slumps forward, limp and numb, a gentle buzz ringing in his ears.

Dream fucks him through it, mumbling soft apologies against his skin as George comes to, whimpering and squirming in discomfort.

The high is reached, and broken. Dream falls, eyes rolling and body shaking, breathing miracles and dreamscapes. George kisses him, messy and golden, dripping with syrup and keeping ahold of him. They’re fatigued but it’s okay, the price to be on each other’s breaths and part of each other’s creations. The embers of sex hang in the dim air as Dream slumps into the sheets, wrapping his arms around George and pulling him down with him. He looks as breathtaking as ever, neck a work of art, hips bruised and lips bleeding.

“You did so well George,” He whispers into chocolate hair. “so proud of you, I love you.”

“I love you too, Clay.” Was the muffled reply, accompanied by a kiss on his collar. “Thank you.”

Neither of them bother to clean, not that they really mind, with George on Dream’s chest and Dream’s fingers in his hair, it’s an afterglow they sink into together, enveloped by purple stained silence. Tomorrow, Dream will buy them chocolate and wine, but for now, they’ll drift into soundless subconscious, safe in each other.

The universe falls asleep for them, aligning their stars in the endless cosmos, a love letter, meant only for the lovers.

**Author's Note:**

> my apologies if this is slightly incoherent or contains any grammar or spellings errors, it was very rushed and i really don’t know how to write


End file.
